


Blood Red Roses

by Aryagraceling



Series: Prompts, Drabbles, and Shorts [11]
Category: Best Served Cold-Joe Abercrombie
Genre: AO3 FB Challenge, Angst, F/M, Grief, Hurt, Inspired by Music, Masturbation, Pain, Rape Mentions, Self-Loathing, Suffering, mentioned canon character death, mentioned incest, of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 13:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryagraceling/pseuds/Aryagraceling
Summary: Benna was gone, along with any hope of her feeling beautiful again. The feeling was buried along with his bones, wherever they’d ended up.





	Blood Red Roses

_ Maiden of Death.  _ The bastards’ voices rang in her head as she stood. “Maiden of suffering,” Monza ground out, bones shifting and creaking beneath mottled skin as she took one step after another across the room. “Maiden of agony, maiden of misery, maiden of should-have-fucking-let-me-die.” Even now, months after she’d woken up to find her body shattered beyond recognition, she cursed the bone collector for collecting  _ her,  _ not leaving her to die at the bottom of the mountain covered in the castle’s waste.

_ With Benna.  _ Benna was gone, along with any hope of her feeling beautiful again. The feeling was buried along with his bones, wherever they’d ended up.  _ ‘You look especially beautiful today, Monza.’ _

__ Never again. Never again would anyone look at her and tell her she had hair of sable, eyes like sapphire, and lips like roses.  _ Like the ones he used to give me.  _ Her body screamed at her as she took the final step to look in the mirror, sunlight lending an almost ethereal glow to the corpse that stared back at her. Never again would she see herself and  _ believe  _ anyone who said she was beautiful.

As if a corpse could be anything but disgusting. And that’s what she was, just a body. No soul, no ambition, no  _ life.  _ No one.  _ Nothing. Nothing’s left.  _ The bone collector had left her mangled and grotesque and in no state to be let loose on the world.  _ Not as this monster. _

It wasn’t the first time she’d thought it. When her hands were stained with the blood of her latest victim or chest ripped open by scrabbling hands desperate to escape her grip, it crossed her mind.  _ Monster.  _ When dying breaths clouded the air around her, it beat through her being.  _ Monster.  _ When she looked at the twisted limbs and jagged scars that were now hers to bear, her voice cracked pathetically as she said it. 

“Mon--ster.”

It also wasn’t the first time she’d been called monstrous.  _ Disgusting,  _ everyone said when they’d been caught.  _ Vile. Nauseating. Loathsome.  _ “It isn’t as if no one else fucks their brother,” she croaked, running her good hand over the scars below her breast.  _ What’s left of it.  _ Pain spread through her as she pressed on the stitch marks and her eyes welled at the memory of Benna tracing the same path with roses on more than one occasion. The memory of being laid out on a carpet of petals while he fucked her--slowly at first, with breathless gasps of wonder until she dug her nails in and took him the way she needed.

“Benna,” she whimpered, a tear tracing down her fractured face. “Brother.” She pressed her ribs harder and cried out before biting her tongue.  _ Collector can’t know I’m up. Need to escape. Need him gone.  _ Her lungs ripped open as she struggled to inhale around the crushing sense of failure. “Bastard.”

_ You left me alone. _

__ A bird chirped outside the window and she tore her eyes away from the mirror to look out. “I remember,” she said. Her hand dropped to her side as she stepped back toward the bed, tottering over to collapse against the wall. “The song.”

The one Benna used to sing as her blades whirled through a crowd, if he wasn’t too busy trying to avoid vomiting. Monza’s cracked lips stretched into a thin smile as the melody trickled into her consciousness.  _ “Her wrath is known throughout the black/the gardens of death she is tending.”  _ Sometimes after a kill was completed, Benna would let  _ her  _ take  _ him, _ in a welcome change of pace. He got off on the anger and adrenaline surging through her even when her skin was painted the same color as his  _ stupid  _ roses.

_ “Vengeance is her only ward/beware the blood red rose’s thorn.”  _ Monza Murcatto, the Thorn of Talins. A hoarse laugh escaped her before she bent over coughing. “Who knew, Benna? It was  _ your  _ fucking body that plunged me into this hell. Can’t get vengeance for that when you’re dead, you--you--”

_ Ass?  _ Too kind.  _ Waste of breath?  _ Untrue.  _ Useless corpse?  _ “That’s it,” she whispered. “Benna, you useless fucking corpse. Bag of bones worth nothing to anyone now that you’re buried in some shit pile.” Her joints crackled and popped as she sank to lay on the mattress. “You’d be ashamed of yourself. And me. What a pair we’d make now.”

_ “Redemption borne by brigand’s blood/a blight upon the darkness.”  _ And the darkness was overwhelming, crushing down whatever was left of her soul as she growled out curses at her brother. “Couldn’t fuck me one last time before you died. Then fucked me harder than ever when you did. And you thought leaving bruises on me was bad.” She turned onto her back and slid her good hand down over the scar on her hip and into the thatch of curls between her legs. “Look what remains of me now. Bruises are nothing.”

Monza thought of Benna as wisps of pleasure began to break through the burning ache in every inch of her. She closed her eyes and let the sun seep through her eyelids, crimson lighting up her memories and bathing her brother’s body in blood as her fingers moved quicker, pain and pleasure binding tight when her body began to clench.

_ “A pact embraced--” _

__ She came with a choked screech, horrifying herself and the bird outside. “Benna,” she mumbled. “Fuck,  _ you  _ never made me sound like that. All broken and disgusting. And you never will, thank god.” Her limbs twitched and she flinched at the sound of a key in the lock. 

“You okay in there?” The bone collector’s head popped in and immediately, his face flushed.

“Like what you see, fucker?” Monza asked snidely. “This is all your doing.”

“I healed you. You’re welcome,” he said. “You should be thanking me for the fact you’re free to go fuck yourself.” He leered at her and she snarled. “No, bitch,  _ down.”  _

__ _ “A road unsought--” _

There was a knife under her pillow, if only he’d come a little closer.  _ Vengeance. You should’ve let me die there.  _ “I’m not your bitch,” she spat. “You would’ve raped me already if I was.”

“I have a wife for that,” he said. “Wouldn’t need to use you.” He raked his eyes over her gnarled body and licked his lips as he took one step closer. 

__ _ Come on. Do it. Fuck me and I’ll slit your throat while you’re still in me.  _ “You’re fucking sick,” Monza said.

“It’s no worse than fucking your brother,” he said. “Oh, yes, I heard the rumors, Mz. Murcatto. You can think about him all you want this next week while I’m away. Food and water will be left by the door. Try to be a good bitch and ration yourself.” He laughed at her expression, and his smile was enough to bring bile into her throat. “And don’t die.”

“Fuck,” she groaned as he shut the door.  _ A week--seven days, infinite chances.  _ She could go through the window and land on the shrubs below. Couldn’t hurt more than being shoved down a mountain and being brought back to life maimed beyond any hope of repair. “Death to each of them. All fucking seven.” Seven men who wronged her. Seven corpses to sate the bloodlust tingling in her veins. Seven men, seven murders, seven meddling bastards who stole  _ everything.  _

As she swallowed, a smile began to play on her lips as the melody continued in her head.  _ “Redemption borne by brigand’s blood/a blight upon the darkness/a pact embraced, a road unsought--”  _ She ignored the screaming in her facial muscles to bare her teeth in a wolfish grin. 

_ The Maiden of Death won’t be unwrought. _

**Author's Note:**

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